Gone are the kings of the days of old:

Morgan Hetrick
07 December 1931 - 14 July 2004
(Pearl Harbor Day - Bastille Day)
=====

þa ymbe hlæw riodan      hildedeore
æþelinga bearn      ealra twelfa
woldon cearge cwiðan      kyning mænan
wordgyd wrecan      7 ymb wer sprecan
eahtodan eorlscipe      7 his ellenweorc
duguðum demdon      swa hit gedefe bið
þæt mon his winedryhten      wordum herge
ferhðum freoge      þonne he forð scile
of lichaman      læded weorðan
swa begnornodon      geata leode
hlafordes hryre      heorðgeneatas
cwædon þæt he wære      wyruldcyning
manna mildust      monðwærust
leodum liðost      7 lofgeornost.

Then twelve warriors rode around the tomb,
Chieftan's sons, champions in battle,
all of them distraught, chanting in dirges,
mourning his loss as a man and a king.
They extolled his heoric nature and exploits
and gave thanks for his greatness, which was the proper thing
for a man should praise a prince whom he holds dear
and cherish his memory when that moment comes
when he has to be conveyed from his bodily home.
So the Geat people, his hearth companions,
sorrowed for the lord who had been laid low.
They said that of all the kings upon the earth
he was the man most gracious and fair-minded,
kindest to his people and keenest to win fame.

-- Beowulf (Seamus Heaney tr.)

Morgan Hetrick has passed over. He was like a grandfather to me; he occupied a special place in all the hearts of those who knew him, and now that place is as empty as an ocean drained of its water. He led a good life -- no-one can deny that. He saw and did things many of us will never see. He won and lost more fortunes than any of us would care to contemplate. More importantly, he saw to it that those around him shared in his good life and good spirits.

Forever imparting his seventy-two years of well-earned wisdom, Morgan knew the best ways to live, and the one secret to a good life: every morning, rain or shine (preferrably shine), you've got to get out there, strap on an airplane, and get the hell off the ground. Flight was Morgan's real passion, despite everything else in his life, and so long as he had an aeroplane to fly, nothing could faze him. And indeed nothing did: staggering from the wreck, Morgan told the EMT's that, if they could save him, good, but if not, well, that was all right, too. Because, you see, every good pilot knows that any landing you walk away from is a good landing -- this may not have been the best, but to the last he made sure that everyone else was all right.

So, cheers, old man, and as you fly the friendliest skies in the universe, remember to clip the angels' wings for those of us still here (and I hear the Magdeline likes Carribean boat trips).

We will miss you.

I Fought in a War
-----

Suppose we should do the whinging now and get it over with. I haven't heard from the realtors in two days, and while that isn't much considering they mail doesn't come on Sundays, it bothers me. I mean, I want certain things fixed up before I go (I've said this before, I know), and the fact that they won't be is infuriating. On that note, I had a dream last night (sound of thousands of people cheering) that I talked to Mark in the English office, and they offered to let me teach a section of 2003 (or something odd, like 2843) but for only $2800 a semester without fee remission. Brilliant, no?

Also, I've been kind of stuck on the latest story, and actually realised that I need to go back and rewrite a page or so of it, because as it stands the plot doesn't make sense.

I've been reading The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens, and finding them quite enjoyable, unlike Mr. Joyce's Ulysses.

They Might Be Giants have a new album out called The Spine. It sounds rather much like a return to their indie-pop roots (and a turn away from their odd *waves fingers about* mainstream pop nonsense, e.g. "New York City" from Factory Showroom and the like).

Also, Brooke (who I haven't mentioned at all in this blog and who will continue to remain anonymous... er... sort of) casually mentioned a band called "Iron and Wine", and they're quite good as well.

Because I'm an idiot and forgot to buy tortillas, I went off and made "Mexican Pasties" last night, which actually turned out quite well. I may have to try the pasty thing again.

Swastika attack on French mother

French politicians have reacted with horror to an anti-Semitic attack on a woman and her baby on a train.

A gang of young men cut her hair, slashed her clothes and drew swastikas on her body, before overturning the pram in which her infant was lying.(more)

This kind of stuff is simply frightening, for two reasons. One is that I thought we were past all this kind of violence, this idea of the subhuman/superhuman, inferior races, etc. The other is the disturbing fact that she was attacked by six men, and no-one else on the train intervened -- shades of Kitty Genovese. Plus ça change, non?

Fiddler's Green, or
Puttering all around the house (A maid?)
-----

Not much else to report at this time, aside from the fact that it's rained almost every day (albiet off and on, not constantly) for a fortnight. I've gotten bored and decided to move most of the furniture in my apartment around, plus buy more furniture (bookshelves) in the future. I even had a Sketch-Up model of the room built and ready to go, but I hit the wrong button and the damned thing disappeared on me. Ah... technology.

So I've pretty much talked myself out of going up the Hill tomorrow, except that I need to print the Change of Address form off and I ought to buy a little half-gallon of milk (I know, I know, you're thinking "Geez, you wanker, you just went and bought groceries last Thursday, what's wrong with you?" but I put a lot of milk in my tea and coffee, you understand). I'll probably go up the hill, but not stop by the English Department and see what's going on, because, well, I should trust Mark, right? He's in a better position to know about who's in the program and who's not than Booker is. My only concern is that I haven't seen paperwork from the department yet, and I'd like to see that before I leave for Conway. I guess the problem is that I don't know what the next step is going to be, and I don't know who to ask about that. And then there's financial aid, for which I cannot apply until I am enrolled as a student, and that could be as late as the 16th of August. (grabs hair, pulls, makes various angry, frustrated noises) Incidentally, my estimated need for the coming semster is about $6000, including Tuition & Fees for 9 hours (three classes), Room & board, and books. It's not that bad, except that I'll need it really soon, and I'll have slightly less than 1/6th of it by the start of Fall term.

Nothing else at the moment, except that the pie was exceptionally good, as was the curry I made yesterday. I'm actually getting better at this whole "cooking" thing, or at least more experimentative, which is fun considering I never really got to play around before.

Your one-stop blather shop
-----

All right, so a couple of updates:

1) I got a letter (via my folks) from MOHELA again, this time letting me know that they know where my parents live, thus precluding me writing them a letter to that effect.

2) I called Faucette Properties to let them know I hadn't gotten a new lease yet. The lady on the other end said they were very short-handed, but she'd get that out to me asap.

3) No word from the English Dept yet; I'll go in on Monday and ask them if there's something more tangible about me being accepted in the MA program, i.e. paperwork or suchlike. I need that stuff for funding.

4) I founded a new nation. No, seriously. Go here.

Also, I realise that my earlier statements re "being a writer" may, in light of recent posts, be somewhat questionable, and rest assured that I agree with you. On the other hand, there's all this stuff, so judge as ye are wont. I did get another three-quarters of a page written today, but then got sidetracked by British Adverts from the 80's.

Finally, I made an apple pie. It is baking as I type. Mmm... pie.

Pigs, Sheep and Wolves
or, how I learned to stop worrying and Love the Right.
-----

Al-Qaeda 'targeting US election'

Al-Qaeda is aiming to attack the US to try to undermine the presidential election in November, Homeland Security Secretary Tom Ridge has warned.(More)

Al-Qaeda is aiming to "disrupt our democratic process" -- so we'll do it for them. Ladies and gentlemen, this is how Fascism works. The party in power lies to stay in power, trading security for freedom. If they get away with this, mark my words, we'll have 5% of the population in a standing army, a draft, and suspension of habeas corpus. It's coming.

I know this sounds paranoid, but these people are pulling shit like this right out front and nobody squeaks. Madison, Adams and Jefferson are rolling in their graves. We've got to do something about these people -- they're taking what's left of our country and making sure no-one else gets it. I mean, honestly, if Reagan wasn't obvious enough (actor in the White House? Shall we make it more plain?), then Nostro Duce and his spoonfeeding by the Compassionate Republicans is pretty well evident.

Consider, too, the Republican Party's knee-jerk reaction to Kerry's selection of Edwards as his running mate: they began at once to run him down. Is this the kind of leadership we want, that will focus on destroying its opponants rather than building its country? I don't think so.
###
While I'm thinking about it, this is the downfall of our civilization. "Oi! You fat fuck! Were you screwed over by your completely voluntary surgery? We'll get you money!"

"You try keeping your mind in a pair of Ravens."
-----

Not much to report. Called the hospital yesterday, talked to Ana for a good half-hour. Grizz seems to be getting better by the second -- although that's to be expected, given that he's no longer got giant bone spurrs growing into his spine and muscles. She says they might go home either today or tomorrow, depending on how his "war wound" is doing.

I aim to get some writing done this morning, maybe dig more through Aristotle. I'll probably talk to some folks in the Eng Dept soon, see what's going on there, but mainly I'm going to watch the mail for the next couple of days. If I don't see anything from Faucette before Sunday, I'm giving them a call on Monday for sure. I've got to have that lease signed before I go.

Project Britannia timeline is moving along. It's been fun, getting these kinks ironed out.

Finally heard from Ross (waves to Ross), who hasn't disappeared, only gone quiet for the time being. Still waiting to hear from Carlos and Jason, the latter of whom we may have to write off entirely. Ah, well.

the wanker.

You don't too often see a Sunbeam any more.
You never see a Fuller Brush man, or a dinosaur.
The voice of reason rules with an iron fist.
Please forgive me if I'm not prepared to handle this.
James McMurtry, Fuller Brush Man

"If you could read my mind, love..."
(or, Too Much Lightfoot Makes the Baby Go Blind)
-----

Not much to report today. Still too muggy to sleep properly, although I caught a nap this afternoon in the "Alpha Male of the House" Chair. I also worked through the first and second chapters of Aristotle's Politics, which I was supposed to have read for PLSC 3953, Ancient and Medieval Political Thought way back in the Fall of 2001. God, I was such a waste back then. I'm going to pretend the majority of the past, oh, twenty years haven't happened (except for occasional moments with my parents, Scout Camp, Ana and Grizz, and roughly 30% of college), for the simple fact that it wasn't until I was about 20 that I stopped being a wanker (metaphorically speaking).

Anyway, never mind that. Aristotle is surprisingly understandable this time around, and I may end up writing a
Treatise
on the Origins and Causes
of Justice
in both Man and his esteem'd
Government.
I have to write to MOHELA to tell them I don't live in Little Rock anymore, and I have to talk to the University to get some official pronouncement of my Grad School status. I also have to talk to Faucette about a) getting a new lease for the fall and b) getting them to come and fix my ceiling before the winter (so I don't end up heating the entire outside world). Don't let me forget, okay?

I've got the number for Grizz at the Hospital and will probably call him tomorrow. Ana's blog posts are increasingly more optimistic, although she won't tell me what his surgery scar looks like (too squeamish) -- did the cut all the way around, did they make a grid, what? Ah well.

And then there's this sort of foppery:

"Caith Maighe Tiuradh" - The Second Battle of Moy Tura, when the Gaels fought the gods of Ireland, won, and relegated them to living in barrow mounds for the rest of eternity. This is something beyond simple atheism; to the atheist's "God is dead," the Gaels added "Because I killed the fooker." Whether this is a profound insight into the nature of the Divine, or just the whiskey talking, is hard to say... (-- Witchvox.org, "Sean Ciall")

Back to Aristotle!

The Tempest, or
"Blood, Gore, Guts, veins in m'teeth."
-----
Well, the old bear came out of surgery all right, got a new spine and not near as much pain as he used to have.

Not much else to say. Had a rough night last night -- lots of heavy thunder & lightning, woke at about 2am to somebody calling for their cat (unless they hate me and were just calling "here pussy, pussy puss!" in a high-pitched voice through my window). Strange dreams, too: back at camp, I had to deal with moving in to a crummy tent with Eric Stewart, plus I lost my chance at "the most beautiful woman in the world". Ah, dreams... if only they made sense. Woke up to discover the wind had knocked my ginger plant down the steps, breaking the pot in the process; it gave me the excuse to repot the rosemary I'd bought last week, so something good happened. I finished sorting all my files, and most of my paperwork is in neat and tidy hanging folders which I will summarily ignore.

Started reading Henry V today, in tandem with the Tao Te Ching (we'll see how long that lasts). I also discovered a factoid (about Leibnitz of all people...) that will help cement the backstory for Telax Moral.

Finally, I am now a registered voter in Washington County, which means I can vote this fall and not have to drive 150 miles just to do it.

(PS: do not in any way shape or form give money to "Food for the Poor, Inc". While they purport to be a Christian-based needs organization for pitful looking children and starving kittens in the Carribean, they in fact seem to do little else besides beg for money in every print and electronic medium imaginable. I've gotten notes from them on average about one a month for the past two years, and I only gave them a one-time $250 donation.
If you want to give money to somebody worthwhile, give it to Heifer Project, Intl.)

"Check again, Mr. Hayhurst -- are you sure you're walking?"
-----
Well, the old bear is going under the knife this morning. I hope he does all right. Not that waking up early in the middle of a heavy downpour and severe thunderstorm makes me fell any better about it, but... we'll see.

Cheers, old man.

The Madwoman Rant:
or, Grievences Against Doing Right.
CAUTION: Vitrolic, Twentysomething-Angsty Rant

Okay, so, I dated a girl in High School (gasp! shock!) and we got along all right, but it never went anywhere. Flash forward a couple of years, I'm finishing up school, she's married and has had a child. Then her husband turns out to be an abusive drunk and she starts calling me, and I'm such a nice guy that I try to talk her through some of the mess she's made of her life. There you go -- nice guy. But now, because I'm a nice guy, she thinks I'm "the right one" and has latched on to me like the Old Man of the Sea. See what being nice fucking gets you? A bridle and a bride.

It's not that I don't want to be married, you understand. It's that if I ever do get married, she has to conform to certain standards. Interest, for one -- we have to both interest each other. This doesn't apply here: She's heavy conservative and I'm libertarian left, she doesn't have much going for her beyond the fact that she's a nurse, she's not intersting as a person, and -- of all things -- she said, "Oh, it's okay, see, I don't understand your Medieval thing and you don't understand my knitting". Excuse me? You don't understand the major facet of my life, and you think that because I don't understand one minor hobby of yours (despite the fact that I do, it's a physical escapism, I do talk to Ana occasionally while she knits, you know), that's all right?

In many ways she's like a Madison Avenue caricature of a housewife: old-fashioned, conservative, stylish, cooks & cleans & loves without question, "pumping out another unit every nine months", as George Carlin said. But look, it's like Vivian Gornick and Barbara Moran write: "adorable in her not-very-bright submissiveness, charming in her childlike delight in shiny floors, even forgivable in her spiteful competition for the whitest, brightest wash, Madison Avenue's girl-next-door is all the American male could wish for -- unless, by some miscarriage, he should fancy human companionship." Put cruedly, if I wanted a maid I could screw, I'd audition for the role of Senex in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.

I've come up with a good line: "I can be your friend, even your confessor, but lover no and husband never." She doesn't seem to -- or want to -- realize the difference between a good friend and a lover. But when I delivered that liine she cried, and started whinging about how I never gave her a chance. Well excuse me, but there's no stipulation I have to give people "a chance at a relationship". There's a serious difference between being nice to someone and wanting to shack up with that person.

On the wall in my desk area I have most of a Christian bookmark tacked up which reads, "After a while you learn the difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul. You learn that love isn't leaning but lending support. You begin to accept your defeats with the grace of an adult, not the grief of a child. You decide to build on tomorrow's roads, for today's ground is too uncertain." I made this distinction with G-- C--, my "pain-in-the-arse (non-) simultanious-orgasm woman", and it's remained part of my philosophy since then. It is, however, an essential distinction this woman seems to be missing.

I'm a writer. I've written as characters all of my friends and family. I've shuffled their traits and dealed them like a tarot deck. But I do the same thing with everybody -- people I don't know, character traits I've only vaguely encountered, etc. In the process, I've written some pretty kick-ass women, many of whom, for whatever reason, manage to go on having functional (or dysfunctional) relationships with the male characters they're written with. And the truth of it is, this girl, this... K-- M--, she shares very few of the character traits I've written about. And this is important, you see, because all of those kick-ass women, those heriones, they're all distorted versions of the woman that I'd like to settle in with. Don't you see? She's not in my books, therefore she's not in my dreams, therefore... she's not The One. Not even close.

I realise, of course, that she wouldn't understand this in any way, shape or form, but then, I wouldn't expect her to; she wasn't written that way. She's like Brigit O'Shaugnessey in The Maltese Falcon: come on strong one minute, melt in your arms the next, and the whole time you feel like she's got something else going for her. (Astute readers will note that this puts me in the position of Sam Spade, a.k.a. Humphrey Bogart, but astute readers will also note that there isn't much of a happy ending to The Maltese Falcon, either.)

I just feel... I don't know... vageuly monkish about the whole deal. I want to help her out of her misery... but in many ways she reminds me of those old stories about the seal-women or mermaids, who seem to be drowning but will drown their prospective saviours instead. I don't want that.

Hello, what's this?
(blows dust off blog, coughs)

Ah, the old blog. It's been, what, a year or so now? Cor blimus, but that's no fun. Well, a lot has happened since then:
1) I've been to England.
Yes, it's true: unlike certain minor dramatic characters believe, England does exist. I've seen it with me own four eyes. Cambridge was especially lovely and I'd like to live there and/or be reincarnated there about 1889 or so, let's say. Lots of fun.
2) I've completed my thesis.
And boy was it ever worth it. Dam-ned thing. Horror! Horror!
3) I's gradumidadted!
They let me walk onto the stage and everything. There are pictures. You may not see them.
4) I am going to Grad School.
After three tries at various institutions (Berkeley? More like Jerk-ley! Ann Arbor weren't that bad, actually -- it sounded like they'd read my packet and thoroughly hoped I'd get in) for Classics, I'm now going to... stay here, and do the English thing, moving on to Grad School in something literature-based and possibly Medieval.
5) ... but they're not going to pay me for it.
Yes, that's right, the assistanceship hasn't, if you take my meaning. So I get to either a) duke it out with other Grad Students for "unexpected openings" at the Orientation Session in August, b) find some fellowships (hobbits and wizards notwithstanding) and/or wealthy dowagers who believe in the power of education, or c) beg on my knees at the loans department. Sadly, c) looks to be the option I take, which sucks SO HARD. Of course, now is the time to mention that donations to your public Grad Student's Educationary Fund are accepted.

So, "What are you doing right now, you dirty layabout?", I hear you ask. Well, I'll answer that in just a second. (walks off) (sound of flushing) There, that's better. For starters, I'm doing a lot of writing, by which I mean not that much. I've an essay to rework for publication, with which I hope to be done by, oh, Friday. There's also a lot of photocopied handouts that I want forma digitalis, so there's a couple more weeks' worth of work. Plus I'd like to actually complete a Telax Moral story one of these days, so there you go. Plenty to do. There's also plenty to read, most of which I am likewise ignoring because it's tiresome (e.g. Ulysseys, The Art of Courtly Love, etc.) Instead, I've taken up playing the Final Fantasy games, and am in the middle of FF3 (FF6 in Japan).

Other News-related limericks:

Justice: Sharing Data Would Crash System
We have secrets. You may not see them. Go away.
Voting official seeks process for canceling Election Day over terrorism.
Great! Iraq got democracy, all right: OUR democracy. Wondered where it'd gone.

Remember, if nothing else, get out and vote. Vote for, vote against, vote lesser of two evils, I don't care. Just do it!

You might want to check out Grizz's blog, over at http://grizzsgrowls.blogspot.com/. It's more rant-y, but he's having major back surgery, so hopefully that will taper off. Hopefully.

Well, it's been a quite week in Lake Wobegone, my home town, out here on the edge of the prarie...

Wait, that can't be right. Anyway, it really has been quiet. I've gotten another book (actually several, but only one's arrived so far) which I needed for my thesis, and I've been ploughing throw that; otherwise, I've been spending my mornings and early afternoons at the Writing Centre, in part because they let me sit somewhere quiet, drink their coffee, and enjoy their air conditioning whilst I pretend wholeheartedly that I'm going to do work. In the coming week I'll be leaving for Little Rock, to recieve my truck and see about seeing some folks (and getting an eye exam, but the one has nothing to do with the other). I've sent the change-of-address form, and set it for Wednesday.

The ceiling is still leaking, but it stopped for several days this week, which is nice, as the floor has had a chance to dry out some. Starting Monday (and sadly going only through Wednesday), I'm calling Faucette Properties EVERY MORNING to let the gormless gits know they NEED to come fix my ceiling. YESTERDAY. Some people, eh?

Speaking of which, I am down to a solid four pages, but I did get to compare the entire Roman aristocracy to a littler of puppies.

Back at you in a week or so.

Well, I spent the past few days in LR, like I said, and the air conditioning was nice. The house only partly felt like a home; as my folks move their stuff out and into storage, the memories get packed away as well, and that's the way of things.

Quite a few things came out of the excursion, though: for one, I now have clothes I can wear in public (I'm down to six shirts that don't have paint on them) and my first suit (mom cried -- well, almost). I also received the boon of three boxes of my grandfather's old books, which he no longer even acknowledges exist, and probably would have shipped off to St Michael's like the rest of the library. The sad thing is that, going through his library, I realised that my grandfather was a very intelligent man -- I emphasise the was, for although he isn't dead, he's certainly given up on thinking. It is frightening to think that I never met the compassionate, liberal vicar he revealed himself to be in his writings, that such a person, turned from forestry to God's work, LIVED the way of Christ, the loving truth, and then... poof. One anyerism, and he disappates into slovenly madness. tis de bios, ti de terpnon -- and what if that happens to me?

*sigh* Now I'm all depressed.

On the other hand, I've been reading Joseph Campbell's Hero with a Thousand Faces, and between that and the Gender Troublesit's had a profound effect, let me tell yow. Listen to this:

Gender does not imply desire. One can be 'male' without desiring 'female' or 'male'; thus, simply because the gender one carries assumes a cupidious gaze does not mean there is copulation behind it. One can desire Christ, desire to be penetrated by Christ, and mean it a metaphysical, spiritual way. By expressing agape with the terms of eros, bishops and other fathers are subverting the norm, and 'elevating baser desires'. As my father always said, 'Get your Mind out of the Gutter!' -- and it is no different here. Deisire is in the lexicon of both eros and agape, and it is use by both indpendent of either gender of sex of the subject or object.

Pretty nice, eh? That's probably going into the thesis.

I just realised (heh) that tomorrow is July 4, which means that a) the Writing Centre will be closed, and b) the Library will be closed, so I have to stay indoors and find a way to drink gin quietly without quinine. ('quietly without quinine' is (tm) and (c) Jacob Lewis, 2003).

Well, I'm in Little Rock now, as thanks to the loans (and a few gifts from people -- I also accept paypal donations, but I don't know how to tell you that yet (grin)) I can now afford to have the truck repaired. I won't be in the city for too long, though - with or without that truck, I'll still need to tie up loose ends in F'ville before it's on to Glorious England.

Classe(s) are done; the hole in my ceiling has widened; I bought a new fan (with its own mind, now, so it can turn itself on WHENEVER IT FEELS LIKE IT) and a new CD Burner (it made an audio cd in FIVE minutes. I wept openly.)

My mother will drag me to church, because she's like that, but it's only church, and I can put up with it for a little while. Besides, it's interesting.

I received my British Harry Potter on Thursday at 1632, and finished it Friday at 1327, with six hours of sleep and a little bit of work thrown in there, too. I'll have to read it again, since the hype made me fast forward through it.

I saw the property my folks are buying yesterday, and aside from its tick-infested nature and the fact that Mother Green has seen fit to make a new form of insect-slug-minnow hybrid grow in the ichor that used to be the pool, it looks all right. In another month, the fruit trees will be in bloom, and their blackberries will be doing nice indeed.

Off now. Shoo!

Well, the asceticism didn't go too well, the nearest desert being about a thousand miles away, and perhaps human beings aren't so bad anyway. Aside from that, well, Cambridge took their d**d money, and I talked to the loans people and found out that they're a bunch of clueless gits, but they have accepted this and are easily corrected, so that's all right. Following the news that I would get (insane amount of money deleted), I went off and -- hedonistic me -- ordered the two books I'll absolutly need for Cambridge.

Old English is still, well, old and not really English. I have a work-around, but it bugs me that I can't construct things in the language, such as sentences and complex thoughts (not too bad, though, as a truly complex thought beyond 'Hurr... Hrotwulf thrash with mighty, jewel-encrusted, sweet-killing sword, forged of blood and iron, with a sharp edge, how daddy loves his sword, yes he does (direct quote from Beowulf) -- anything beyond that would require, well, words such as 'complex' and 'thought'; I do, however, like their literal-mindedness sometimes: 'And Grendel, with his hate-thinkings, busted the door in two.' And besides, how many pices of authentic literature can start with the sentence fragment, 'was busted'?).

Mad as it may seem, I've decided to live in this flat for another year -- hence I sent off the signed lease on Saturday, along with a cheque for this month's rent, and a little note saying 'Please send someone round to fix the holes in the celings in my kitchend and living room', with judicious use of underline.

God, what a shitty week this has been. I've spent most of it in Old-English limbo, flailing about and not doing a bit of decent work; Quinn seems to think I'm doing well, but I know that I don't have the grammar down, and it's starting to show. I've begun working on Beowulf, and it's not going well at all.

I've also spent most of the week loosing sleep and having my insides liquidated over the fact that Cambridge, an otherwise noble and respected institution, has yet to debit my account the £975. It was supposed to be on the 6th -- and all of their literature stated explicitly that they would do so ON the sixth. I haven't seen the transaction, I haven't heard anything from them, just dead silence and me worried that I won't get in. If that happens, I don't know what the next step is.

I also said something really stupid and vaguly sexual (and clumsy) to an otherwise lovely and wonderful person, and, after heavy drinking (or rather before, since that's what brought it on), have decided to become a desert ascetic, because this whole living-among-human-beings thing just really isn't working out. Jesus Christ.

*blows dust off of blog*

There. Geez, it's been a month. I suppose I haven't written in a while as there's not much to say. The thesis is coming along slowly, but it *is* coming along; I've decided to rewrite the opening significantly. As I said to Quinn, 'I'd like to build a bridge from Classical Antiquity to Late Antiquity by demonstrating what has changed and what hasn't. I will then examine the gender roles of men in Late Antiquity and compare them to CA -- pointing out that, again, little *has* changed, save that the return to an oligarchy heralds a return to the Late Republic and Early Empire.' Later papers, like Master's Theses and Doctoral Dissertations, will build on this, and, if I'm lucky, eventually grant me tenure. As Terry Pratchett says, 'There is always a spare study somewhere, and a seat in the Great Hall (though to bring one's own napkin and utensils is a mark of wisdom).'

I have decided to -- once and for all -- give up on searching for keen, awakened women. There are too many failures, and outright blind alleys, dead ends, and dangerous pitfalls involved in the quest, and it's not fun anymore. I'm getting old, after all (I was tweleve when I was six, and twenty when I was twelve; at that rate, I am now approximately 47.398199e6), and you only live thrice. I'll just go on being myself, and let HER find me.

Other than that, not much news. I'm waiting on loans, and Cambridge to debit my account, which they said they were going to do yesterday but apparantly didn't get around to doing, because for all my duck-and-cover, end-of-the-world gloom, there's still (censored) dollars in there, so I'm safe. I may even buy groceries (mwahahah!).

Also, I discovered that reality is merely a fiction wrapped around an even scarier hollow shell, which is just the other side of this wall. Weird, no? I'm shocked.

The fundamental things apply early.
-- Frances Synotre, Things You Should Have Learned in School.

Ramadan is over, the new moon's shown her face
I'm halfway round the planet in a most unlikely place
-- Jimmy Buffett, 'Far Side of the World'

The semester has come to an end, and none too soon. I'm rather tired, and there's not much I can do about it at this point if my grades suck. As the papers got turned in, I felt just a little lighter; when Sexton's paper was away, I weighed about six pounds. The hard part was finishing all the stuff for Dave (which is now at http://comp.uark.edu/~jcl08/rof/); that took a lot of work, and I'm not at all happy with the result. Some of the pages are boring, or simply shite. Decent shite maybe, but tiresome all the same.

I made an Epityrum and served it up like the Umbrians do, with lots of oil and sphagetti. It was salty, and more than I think the Romans would have liked; I need to find some decent olives that aren't already pre-spiced in the brine. Still, it was good, and a decent excuse to expand my spices to the Roman side (coriander, cumin, fennel -- if anybody has any rue, I'd love them forever if they were to give me some). I need a little spice shelf now.

Now that the summer is officially here, I have a list of things to do next week while I'm off. Cleaning up is one; I'd like to move some furniture around, but I'm not sure where yet. I need to bracket out my paper for SEMA, and begin reading for it; I target late June or early July for the actual writing to begin, and I'd like to have a list of things to look for whilst I'm at Cambridge. Of course, there's also Latin, Greek, and German to study; I don't want to do too much with French yet, since the class is ultra-basic, and I don't want to get stuck in the 'oh-this-I've-had-this-before-blah' mode which results in nasty things like B's. There's tapes to be cut, and 'big' laundry to the laundro-hut; I've agreed to make bread for Genet, since she made that nasty face at me (I love that nasty face; all her faces are so cute... but don't tell her I said that).

Girls meet boys and boys tease girls
I'm headed out this morning for the far side of the world

Well, enough of this loathing-self whining. It's coming up on finals week now, and I've gotten a draught of the paper to Sexton, and am awaiting her comments. Dave's sent me a few comments on the site as well; I intend to finish those today *after* I write an essay for him on Corbeil's 'Why Do Roman Politicians...?' article; I'd also like to get started on the philosophy paper.

But there's better news ahead: Sturgis came in this week, and, once it was deposited for sure, I purchased a ticket to London for 23 July to 21 August. Man oh man, that's gonna be great. My passport's come in, and I'm thinking of using just a little Sturgis money to get some passport photos and then the International Student ID, which will, so I'm told, be *really* worth it. I also bought the book Quinn and I will use this summer; it's called 'Old English Grammar and Reader', and will be really fun. Along with that I picked up 'A Taste of Ancient Rome', which should be fun. I think I'm done buying things for now (grin).

The relationship with haec ille Clodia has, I hope, come to its natural end; I hope to still be friends with her, but this silly physical relationship has GOT to stop, because neither of our hearts is in it. I mean, she's good people, and we work together really well, but there's just not the right kind of harmonie. Still, somewhere out there, She is drawing closer; I can feel it.

Bah. Enough silliness! To work! I'll see you all in a week. Stay at peace, world.